“I’ll be back tomorrow to settle up with you,” Clyde said, heading for the door.
“If you’re huntin’ trouble, I’d rather be paid right now,” Waite complained, hurrying after the man.
“Tomorrow,” Clyde growled, taking a last pull on the bottle, then handing it to the liveryman and saying, “Here, finish it off and sleep late.”
“Thanks,” Waite said, taking a drink. “But there ain’t a hell of a lot left and I still want to be paid.”
Clyde’s expression hardened as he stood just inside the barn door glaring up the street through the falling rain. “Old man,” he said in a low, ominous voice, “if you don’t drop it, I’ll pay you right now, all right. Only, instead of cash, I’ll pay you with a gawddamn bullet!”
Waite retreated and held up one hand. “Tomorrow will be just fine, Clyde. Just fine. I’ll get that roan back in good shape. You won’t even recognize him when you come back to pay me tomorrow.”
“Good,” Clyde said, tugging the brim of his hat down over his deep-set black eyes and stomping back out into the night.
When he came to the Paradise Hotel, there was no one at the front desk, which was not the least bit surprising given the lateness of the hour. There was, however, a registration book, and Clyde turned it around and began to read the names of guests who had arrived two or three days earlier.
“Ned Cash,” Clyde sneered, seeing that the man had been given Room 8. “Nice touch, Nathan Cox.”
Clyde peeled off his rain slicker and tossed it on the floor. He removed his drooping hat and sent it spinning onto a fine leather lobby chair. Then he checked his Colt, and when he was satisfied that the gun was in good working order, headed for Room 8. Maybe he’s even got a whore with him, Clyde thought happily. Maybe this is going to be a good night after all.
When he came to Nathan’s room, Clyde planted his muddy boots on the carpet and pressed his ear to the door. He was disappointed not to hear the sounds of passionate lovemaking. Hell, Cox was probably just sleeping.
Clyde didn’t even bother to try the knob, knowing that the counterfeiter would have the door locked. So he just reared back on one leg and kicked open the damned door. It took but an instant and then Clyde charged inside, ducking sideways out of the expected line of fire.
“Freeze or you’re dead!” he shouted, cocking back the hammer of his six-gun.
They had been making love, by gawd! The pair of lamps on their bedside tables were flickering low but not so low that Clyde couldn’t plainly see that Nathan Cox was mounted atop a big-chested woman.
The counterfeiter had turned, then froze reaching for a holstered six-gun hanging on his headboard. Clyde took three long strides and brought the barrel of his Colt slashing down across the counterfeiter’s skull.
Nathan Cox groaned and collapsed on the woman, who started to scream until Clyde pointed his gun at her pretty face and said, “Open your mouth and I’ll fill it with lead.”
She struggled to control her terror. “Who are YOU?” the woman wheezed.
Clyde grabbed a handful of the counterfeiter’s hair and hauled him off the woman, then rolled him to the floor. Cox still had a big, stiff rod, but it was fading fast.
Clyde chuckled, holstered his gun, and closed the door whose bolt had torn away from its latch. It was easy to fix.
“Who are you, mister!” the woman cried, starting to jump out of the bed and get dressed.
“Back in that bed,” Clyde said, placing his hand on the butt of his gun. “Woman, you ain’t goin’ nowhere!”
“Please, don’t hurt me!”
Clyde’s eyes shifted toward the counterfeiter. “Was he good?” The woman gulped. “Was he!”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes!”
“And did he pay you with a hundred-dollar bill?”
The woman blinked with surprise. “Yes.”
“Well,” Clyde said, unbuckling his gun belt and letting it fall to the floor, “there’s plenty more where them come from and now they all belong to me. You want some of what I got?”
He was already unbuttoning his muddy trousers because he knew the Whiskey Creek whore’s answer would again be yes.
“Are you going to kill us?”
Clyde finished undressing. He was already stiff and long and he turned sideways so that she could really admire the enormous size of his throbbing manhood, But the woman didn’t even look at the size of his cock.
“I won’t say anything if you don’t hurt me.” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “Please. I don’t know why you pistol-whipped him, but it has nothing to do with me.”
“You’re right about that,” Clyde said, yanking away the sheet and blanket covering her body. “Open your legs and shut your damned mouth.”
The woman did as she was told and Clyde was on her fast. He was chilled and that made her flesh seem hotter than rocks in July. Grunting and humping, he took her rough and fast, enjoying the way she whimpered even as she tried to pretend that she was enjoying the pounding.
“Who are you?” she asked when he pumped himself dry and then rolled heavily off her sweaty body.
“You don’t need to know,” he said. “In fact, it’d be healthier if you didn’t know.”
“Then please don’t tell me.”
Clyde looked around the room and spotted a bottle of high-grade brandy. “That all there is to drink in
